Too tired to masturbate, too bored to eat…not even so much too bored as too put out, so I guess that makes me lazy.

Well, there was the RingDing or whatever those chocolately things with fluffy-ewww-grody cream centers are called; why have a name attached if you don’t pay them mind often enough? They’re bad, bad, baaaad and not to be toyed with; but even the bad stuff’s unsatisfying when it’s unsatisfying, you know? But no food, because nothing seems fit for my mouth and besides, the stomach hasn’t really called for anything today. I suppose I’m too full elsewhere to bother with the machinations of hunger and thirst.

So yeah, too tired, too bored, too, too, too.

There were strange and disconcerting dreams when I hazarded sleep: notebooks washed pink in their entirity –I don’t know how they were soaked, what caused them to bleed the red ink away, only that they are dripping, muted pink pages, forlorn, devoid (mostly) of the words set there. I never write in red, and avoid ‘runnable’ ink like the plague. Yes, they were strange and disconcerting: Danny was there and he and I held and caressed one another for only the second time ever in my dreaming life; the first of those dreams was after his diagnosis. I don’t know why dreaming of my cousin as a lover disturbs me so; we’re told that this is a perfectly normal scenario in a dream, but still….there is a strange mix of discomfort and comfort upon waking, even now, some seven hours later.

Sometimes I think even the nightmares are better; they don’t offer up the infernal puzzles like the strange ones do. Just rampant horror and terror and spine-stiffening fear. I can comprehend my terror and fear-based anger and if I can comprehend, all the better. At least I know what I’m working with. The vague dreams do me no favor. They seem to muddle and tire and discourage me.

Discourage: seven out of ten people that have lent their opinions (please, oh, please do not take this to mean that I do not value your opining….) to everything occurring with (to?) me have suggested laying school aside. School is causing this frenzy. You can’t make it like this. Consider other options, like not going to school, like putting it off for a while. Like not going to school, like not going to school. Like taking one more menial fucking job that will leave you just as unfulfilled and unable to care. Unable to care for your children, and simply unable to care. One person offered what they saw as options, one person said, gimme time to think, one person said, what can I do to help you in the short-term, to get you over this hump? The magical three. These are the people that see something in me, because they know. They either have it in them or have it building in them.

They know what it’s like to want to chew their arm off to escape the shackle digging in at the end of it.

Have I mentioned this ’sacrifice in the short-term for long-term results’ thing that believe so heartily in? Have I? Are there so few others that think and feel this way? Am I, once again, the freak in my way of thinking, my way of feeling, my way of doing and just simply being? Putting these things off will not make them go away. Sometimes it’s a matter of FIDO or accepting the little that you are and that’s that. My guess is that God would not have given me such a brain, capable of higher thought, if I were to merely accept what little I am and that’s that. It’s far too cruel an imagining. I spent the first half of my life being told that He was wrathful and vengeful and seething and heavy-handed. I accepted this, and that was blind error on my part. We do not wake each morning with ill will towards our children. We want only the best for them. He is no fucking different, and damn all those people to hell that spend their days teaching anything less to others, misleading them while trying to lead them, turning them away from the very thing that should sustain them in ugly times: Faith. And ultmately, it doesn’t boil down to whether or not you believe in Him, but whether or not you have the level of faith to sustain you when your head hurts and your ass is chewed, so lay offa the arguing His existence –or rather, mocking me because I do believe– or lack thereof. I could give a fuck, really, at least today. I will quietly worry about you going to hell and you quietly worry about my propensity toward foolish notions and we will shake hands and enjoy the dance. So shall it be.

How appropriate that I should struggle with all these things on today of all days: Independence Day. What a lovely, delicious word: Independence. Free to fuck things up in the effort. Free to make the effort. Free to cry out when the effort stripes you and leaves you bleeding from the soul. Free to accept the help offered you, even when you find it embarrassing. So embarrassing that it makes you physically sick. I am working on this, and maybe one day I will transform into a graceful recipient. Maybe, magically, I will even ask for assistance.

“Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose.” Janis said that, and she was right to a degree. I got nothin’ left to lose if I lose myself, no matter what else I may have.I don’t have to have anyone’s support or encouragement to succeed, nor even their understanding. Hell, I don’t even need people to wipe the slack-jawed, ‘Whaaaa?‘ look off their faces as they try and comprehend me. I can bulldoze my way through anything, you bank on it. What I do need is to hear a ‘Way to focus on the prize!’ (that goes against the lack of need for support and encouragement thing I just mentioned, but it’s not the same thing, really–trust me) every now and then, a genuine one, even if it’s followed with a ‘but’ or ‘although’.

I don’t mean this to sound angry, because I’m really not, not in this instance. ‘Troubled’ oftentimes masks itself as fury where I’m concerned. I’ve tried to change that in the past, I really, really have. Maybe it’s time for some zoony smudgestick, sweatlodge, flyspiritfly bullshit. Gritting my teeth, soldiering away under the pack is just increasing my dental bills and flattening my fucking feet.